


Second Thoughts

by Cheers



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 08:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20543162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheers/pseuds/Cheers
Summary: Define denial? Guy lives. Define advanced denial? Guy AND Marian AND Meg ALL live. The following is an attempt to deal with the mess that ensues.(written in August 2009, cross-posted from FFnet)





	Second Thoughts

_Be careful what you wish for; you may just get it._

The church was stuffy with the odour of incense, the slanted columns of light filtering through the windows high above lending it a surreal air. The priest droned on with the sermon, and Marian, lost in thought, was biting her lip, her hands bunching the heavy fabric of her dress, watching Guy’s face in profile as he smiled his way dreamily through the wedding mass -

A good dozen yards ahead of her. Kneeling next to Meg.

***

She had come uninvited. She was not supposed to be there, not because she had been purposely scorned, but because it had been understood, and only natural, that after the history they had shared it made no sense for her to be a guest of honour at Guy’s wedding. In fact, inviting her might have been construed as a greater offense.

But she had come anyway.

Why? Marian could not answer that question. Did not want to. Because, truth be told, she had been compelled to ride to the quiet, pretty village of Linby by the wild hope that upon seeing her, Guy would change his mind.

She knew it to be just that, a wild dream.

Still, she had had to try.

So she had arrived, a lone unbidden guest, accompanied only by her maid and groom, and taken a place at the back of the gathering outside the church. And had gone through the fresh self-inflicted heartbreak of seeing the momentary turmoil in Guy’s face as his beautiful eyes fell on her, and past pain surged to their surface before subsiding. He then forced himself to smile, a polite, public smile that did not reach the eyes, and his gaze held hers for just a moment longer before he turned and walked on, confident and calm once more, to his place to the right of the church entrance, looking back for an instant a while later only to steal a furtive, fascinated glance at his bride as her father escorted her up the steps. Then, his eyes lit up in all their brilliant glory, and Marian felt a lump in her throat.

_…If any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, by God's Law, or the Laws of the Realm; let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace…_

Her anguish threatened to overwhelm her and wrench a cry from her lips. But what could she possibly say?

_I love him? _

_I was wrong? _

_It should have been me?_

She bit her lip, fingernails digging into her palms.

It _could_ have been her.

***

_Wilt thou, Guy Crispin Gisborne, have this woman to thy wedded wife…_

Marian stared directly ahead, trying hard not to think, not to feel, not to remember. She had scorned him once, and even as she berated herself for the crass manner in which it was done, Marian still stood by her reasons. Guy had lied to her, and guilty as Marian herself was of the same offense, she had at least stopped short of using her lies to make irreversible changes in Guy’s life, as he had tried to do with her.

Or so she thought. As much as she had tried to avoid dwelling on the subject before, she could not help suspecting – fearing – that her insidious fiddling with reality, adjusting facts and skewing perceptions just enough to keep Guy’s anger from erupting and to keep his soldiers off Robin’s back, had changed his life very much indeed.

Some of those changes had been for the better, and Marian was proud of those. By the time they said their goodbyes in Acre, Guy was less ashamed of his human side, less enamored of Vasey’s twisted morals, and more mindful of the greater good. Other changes had been less clear-cut. Marian could not help knowing that in a way, she had destroyed Guy’s faith in her, and indirectly, in good people like her. And it had not been her who had ultimately restored it.

Her thoughts crept back unbidden to the warm, quiet evening in the Holy Land. It was just before Christmas; she had been living as a virtual prisoner in a small, sparse chamber of the sprawling house Vasey had rented, with Guy as her reluctant jailer. She had tried her wiles on him time and again, even taunted him with a prospect of marriage, with little luck; until that night, when she had pleaded once more that he kill Vasey and take his last chance to be a good man, and Guy stopped and stared at her.

She did not know whether to rejoice or fear, as she saw his face stiffen, and watched the light that had always been there when he had looked at her die from his eyes.

“So you think that one murder can solve what another cannot?” he asked, his voice tired and hollow. "You think that by killing Vasey I will erase all the wrongs he has done, all the wrongs _I _have done? Do not be naïve, Marian, with a weak, absent king like Richard, the country and your precious people will still suffer. Killing Vasey will make no difference."

“It will make a difference to Nottingham!” she continued hotly, no longer sure if she was trying to convince Guy or herself.

“How? A new Sheriff will arrive and everything will stay the same. Besides…” he grimaced, “I cannot kill Vasey. I owe him too much, even if I forget the gains he promised, and even though I know what you think of him and I agree that he is too… harsh at times, I cannot do it. He is the closest I have had to…”

“What?” Marian was growing impatient. Guy’s despondent talk was bad enough, but compassion for Vasey was downright ridiculous.

“Family,” Guy finally managed, and Marian was momentarily taken aback at the pained tone of his voice. Guy knew that Vasey was using him, she realized, knew how little the Sheriff cared for him, but was so desperate even for the tiny crumbs of attention that could be misconstrued, perhaps consciously, for affection that he was willing to deceive himself.

“Marian,” Guy continued, “I will not take your hand as a sacrifice. I will not take it as payment. I might have done it a while back, and I have you to thank for it that I no longer can… you love Hood, do you not?” his voice was barely audible.

Marian remained silent.

“Say it, Marian.”

“He is dead now, so it does not matter. Yes, I loved him, but – ”

“He is alive.”

“What?!” Marian’s eyes went huge in a mixture of shock and delight. She would have doubted Guy’s words had it not been for his broken, dejected tone.

“He is here, and his… people are here,” Guy still could not keep the contempt out of his voice. “I am finished playing games with you, Marian. You always win anyway, so I am giving it up to you one more time.” He held out a key from the ring, took Marian’s wrists, and unlocked the shackles. “Go to them, and for heaven’s sake stay out of Vasey’s way.” He motioned her to the door.

Marian was dumbfounded. She was deliriously happy to learn that Robin lived, and her heart was leaping out of her chest at the prospect of seeing him so soon. But she was also shocked, and not a little confused, by Guy’s actions. Her subtle tactics of bending him to her will had finally worked; she should rejoice, should she not, at her masterful victory? Instead, she was suddenly feeling empty and disappointed because it was over. It had been a long, drawn-out war, with losses and wounds, symbolic and real, on both sides, but as much as she had always wanted to best Guy, to win him over, to have him surrender, she had not been ready for it to happen – not so simply and quietly, above all.

“Marian, you should go,” Guy’s insistent voice broke her out of the reverie. “The guards are distracted playing dice but the game will be over soon, it is the best time to leave.”

She stepped closer, her eyes fully on Guy’s face. Suddenly thinking how accustomed she had become to seeing him, to hearing the low, gravelly voice, to guessing which particular sour mood he was in that day.

“Thank you, Guy. I will… pray for you. I hope that – ”

“Marian...” a hint of the old pleading tone was back in his voice as he interrupted her, and Marian was almost relieved despite herself. "Can I ask for something before you go?"

“Yes.” She did not know what he would ask for, but could not refuse.

“Kiss me.”

She had kissed him once before, when Robin had needed to escape from the castle and she had played decoy, and Guy had been duly distracted and fascinated, but she feared that he had suspected the hidden agenda at the end, with her hurried departure and controversial excuses. And it seemed that what he was asking for now was not merely a repeat of her performance but an honest token of affection.

He had been prepared to pay a high price for it, after all. For a single kiss, he was setting her free to go to his enemy. For a moment’s bliss, he was breaking his own heart.

Marian stepped up to him and took his face in her hands.

And he kissed her, wildly, desperately, with passionate abandon, as if she were the first and last woman he had kissed, as if his life would end the moment their lips parted. And she found herself kissing him back, and not-quite-ready for it to end when it did.

“Go,” Guy said without looking at her. He held out a key and Marian noticed his hand trembling. “The door in the kitchen leads to the courtyard.” He opened the door of Marian’s cell, and stepped aside.

She had wanted to say something but words were useless. Quietly, she tiptoed down the corridor into the dark kitchen, fumbled with the lock, and slipped out into the night.

Robin had been ecstatic at seeing her. Marian herself had been happy and relieved to see him alive, and suffused with joy and warmth at seeing their beloved gang alive and well. But somewhere at the back of her mind, the kiss still lingered in her memories and stole into her daydreams at unguarded moments.

She chose not to think why.

***

_Benedictio annuli ante hostium templi..._

The words rang painfully familiar. Her own wedding to Robin had not been all that different. The ceremony was probably the same all over Christendom, after all, and the small chapel tucked into a side street in Acre was not much different from the simple rural church in Linby. The gang had been their only witnesses: King Richard had wanted to come and officiate, but with the heightened alert and renewed fears for his safety, his closest advisors, and Robin himself, had counseled him against it.

It did not matter, Marian had thought. So long as she and Robin were together, it did not matter.

_Together_. They had spent a lot of time together as youngsters, playing, having adventures, teasing each other, supporting each other through life’s little disappointments. In the past two years, they had fought side by side for a common cause, which was certain to have brought them even closer.

Except that it had not.

They were close, for sure, as friends, confidants, fellow warriors, family almost. But as Robin’s hands slid down her body in the bedchamber, as his playful kisses flitted on her lips, as his hurried caresses ran their course in the marriage bed, to her shock, Marian found herself impatient for it to be over so that they could merely stay side by side and be friends again. And on that night and other nights that followed, found herself lost in the memory of another kiss, _that _kiss, and wondering about what could have been.

It was a relief when she became pregnant quickly. That way, she could once more declare herself mistress of her own body. And that way, their return to England became an immediate prospect.

There had been some talk of other Englishmen in town. Someone in Richard’s retinue even talked about recognizing Sheriff Vasey of Nottingham, but for all the gossip and fears of a Black Knight plot, the anticipated attack never came. Robin eventually found out that Vasey had been betrayed and abandoned by his Saracen allies due to a disagreement over price; a fitting reason, indeed, for an assassination plot to fail! Neither Vasey nor Guy were seen in Acre afterwards, and when Robin, Marian and the others boarded the return ship to England, Vasey’s presence in Acre was all but forgotten.

They came back to Nottinghamshire after an almost half a year’s absence, and yet it was as if time had stopped. The dull green and glaring yellow of the early autumn leaves had given way to the freshest, daintiest hues of spring, but nothing else had changed. Vasey was still Sheriff, vicious and fiery-tempered as ever. Guy was still at his side, morosely bearing the brunt of Vasey’s tantrums. And the peasants were still suffering.

And Locksley was still Guy’s. So Marian and Robin, and the fellow outlaws except Will and Djaq, found themselves back in the forest.

At least the winter was over.

Marian’s castle spying days were gone, and as an outlaw’s wife she was no longer supposed to wander freely around town, so they now relied on sympathetic servants to bring them news from within Nottingham. Most of it had been the usual kind, and had elicited the usual reaction from Robin: righteous anger at Vasey and Guy that was channeled into daring escapades. More often than not, Robin would put his life in peril, but his resourcefulness and bravado never failed him. Marian, who was alternately fascinated and frustrated by his feats, was reduced to scolding him for recklessness and watching from a safe distance.

Presently, she was joined in her observations by a new arrival.

Kate should have been everything Marian had been fighting to help. An honest peasant girl, working hard from her young years to make a living, helping out her mother and caring for her younger brother. And now, with her brother dead by Gisborne’s hand, she needed protection and had come to the forest, almost reluctantly, to stay with the outlaws.

So why did Kate annoy Marian so much?

Part of it, and a large part to tell the truth, was the voice. After all, they had another new gang member, Friar Tuck, who was prone to his own idiosyncrasies and tended to invoke his profession a bit too frequently with the occasional sermon, but Marian found him easy to get along with. So it had to be Kate’s shrill, screechy voice, when she harped on for hours about vengeance on the evil Gisborne who had killed her brother and made self-assured remarks about the gang’s battle plans when those were discussed. It had to be that – it surely could not have been the fact that Kate was a girl. _Or could it?_

Marian’s pregnancy was progressing, and it had given her a fair share of headaches, literal and figurative. The never-ending sickness on their return voyage had been bad enough; but even now that they were on solid ground and the worst of it was over, Marian found herself plagued by her aching back, by the constant swelling in her legs, by the fatigue that came at the slightest provocation and by her own mood swings alike. She should have been grateful, really, to have a sympathetic female shoulder to lean on.

Except that Kate’s shoulder was not exactly sympathetic.

Kate had somehow forgotten all about Marian’s Nightwatchman past, and had adopted a perversely arrogant attitude toward her in making a show of her peasant-girl simplicity and indirectly shooting barbs at Marian’s noble-lady origins. It did not help at all that in her condition, Marian was indeed in need of pampering, and Kate’s endless energy only seemed to emphasise the difference. To make matters worse, she had clearly set her heart on Robin.

Marian was too busy making it from one day to the next, and helping Much run the camp (needless to say, Robin had strictly forbidden her to join any outlaw missions, and truthfully, Marian did not feel up to it anyway), to spare Robin any romantic thoughts, and too drained to respond to any overtures. Kate, however, had no such problems, and in her ostensibly-playful way would constantly besiege Robin with flirtatious glances and flattering remarks, a siege that he was only too happy to endure. Needless to say, Kate was there on each and every mission they went on, and the exaggerated camaraderie and conspiratorial inside jokes she blatantly paraded after each successful outing were nauseating to witness.

More and more, as Kate continued her assault and Robin all but openly encouraged it, Marian would find her thoughts turning to Guy. He had never been so lighthearted about his affections. If anything, he had been too serious, and his intensity and almost-obsessive need of her, of her attention and approval, had unnerved her so much as to make her uncomfortable. And yet compared to her husband’s behavior, it seemed downright touching.

Marian had heard little about Guy in those weeks. Apparently, he had been the scapegoat for Vasey’s frustration with the summary failure of his plans, and had returned from the Holy Land a broken man, drowning his sorrows in drink and taking little interest in the happenings around him. Most people put it down to his thwarted ambitions.

Marian wondered if that was all there was to it.

Once or twice, he had captured Robin; yet both times Robin had made an escape. And while Marian feared for her husband’s life, she found herself inexplicably fearing for Guy as well, hoping that their endless altercations did not drive _him_ to an early grave.

Once, when she had been thoroughly disgusted with watching Robin and Kate playing hide-and-seek around the camp – she was not sure but Marian thought she had seen a furtive kiss or two – her patience snapped, and she used Robin’s absence later that day to go to Nettlestone, and from there take a cart to Nottingham. She had wanted a few hours away from the camp. She had wanted to feel alive again. And she had wanted, for longer than she cared to remember, to see Guy.

And she suddenly did not care all that much if he caught her.

She made her way unobserved into the market square and wandered through the stalls, feigning an interest in the merchandise.

And barely half an hour later, she saw him, riding toward the castle.

She was struck by the change in him. _A broken man_, she had heard. Marian had found it hard to picture, knowing Guy with his commanding manner and arrogant posture.

Now, she saw it.

He still carried himself gracefully in the saddle, but his shoulders were slumped, his head bent low, the now-long hair dirty and dishevelled, an untidy fringe hanging over one side of his gaunt face. And her heart sank at the thought that, in all likelihood, _she_ had done it.

“Marian?!” an urgent whisper sounded at her ear as a hand grabbed her arm. _Robin._

“What are you doing here?!” she hissed.

“What are _you_ doing here,” he countered. “How can you put yourself in such danger? You should be at the camp, and not where Gisborne can see you,” Robin’s voice became more urgent as he nodded in Guy’s direction and put a hand protectively over Marian’s belly.

_Maybe I _wanted_ Gisborne to see me, _she thought sourly_._

And at that moment, perhaps overhearing the sound of his name, Guy turned and looked at them.

His eyes were dead.

In the months that she had spent at the castle, Marian had learned to read Guy’s eyes only too well. Unfortunately, more often than not, the sentiment they held was anger. But also, often, sadness. Occasionally, mischief. Rarely, hope. Hardly ever, happiness. Once, it had been up to her to bestow it.

As she looked at him now, she regretted every time she had withheld it.

“Marian, I am sorry if I offended you,” Robin fussed by her side as he led her away from the square. He had been looking at Marian and had not seen Guy watching them. Had not seen Guy turning back without a single word, without a single gesture to the guards even though he would not have hesitated to let all hell loose on Hood had Hood been there alone. “Kate and I were… a bit too carried away, that is all. I promise,” he tried his most ingratiating smile on her, “I will not do it again. Marian, my love, please do not cry! You are wearing yourself out too much in your condition, please calm down!”

Marian could not very well explain to Robin that her unstoppable tears had nothing to do with Robin’s inconsiderate flirting. Or with her pregnancy, for that matter.

***

_In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen._

Marian watched as if in a dream as Guy placed the ring on Meg’s thumb, then her index finger, then the middle.

“With this ring I thee wed, this gold and silver I thee give, with my body I thee worship, and with this dowry I thee endow...

The ring was not nearly as gaudy as the one at their wedding. Less flashy, but more elegant, a large sapphire in a slender gold setting, beautifully matching Meg’s cornflower-blue gown. His mother’s ring, the only memento and family heirloom Guy and his sister had once been left “by accident “and had tenaciously held on to, she had learned from whispered gossip, that Isabella had brought to Nottingham and Guy had now inherited, again, only to give it to his new wife.

Isabella had been a surprise. Never in the time they had known each other, not even in their courtship, had Guy mentioned a sister. Come to think of it, he had mentioned little of his family other than a desire to make his departed parents proud. And then, all of a sudden, the town was abuzz with gossip about this splendid lady, a Gisborne who had sought out her brother, and Marian had risked discovery and braved her condition to come to town to steal a glance at the newcomer.

She was a splendid lady indeed. Marian, whose dress sense had been developed by over-eager maids – she was but ten at the time of her mother’s untimely death “and hardly ever opined on by her indulgent but abstract-minded father, found herself envying the older woman’s impeccably refined taste in garments, even though, she thought, she could easily match Isabella’s poise. _If we ever stop being outlaws, I will get myself dresses of this kind_, she mused even as she berated herself for the petty concern.

And then, to add insult to injury, her husband noticed the newcomer, too.

As if Kate had not been bad enough. Marian was forced to feign indifference “admittedly a task that was growing easier by the day – as Robin flirted precariously with a woman who was looking increasingly unreliable and plain dangerous. A secret meeting to discuss Guy’s plans one day, a blatantly unnecessary treat of strawberries another. _What is he going to do next, start an affair with Vasey?_ It seemed that Robin had a steadfast fascination with women as spies, and as soon as Marian had stopped being one, she stopped being exciting. _Or is it a fascination with women close to Guy_, Marian wondered uneasily. Even Kate’s tribulations as she had to develop a feigned case of scrofula and spent a week nursing very unsightly boils had failed to bring Marian satisfaction.

Meanwhile, Guy was also back from London after an involuntary sojourn with Prince John that had, amazingly, not only left him alive, but had brought him back looking devastatingly handsome and more pleased with life. _What in the world would have caused such a change_, Marian wondered, but could not help noting “and welcoming – the news that he was still single. _Why should I care_, she kept telling herself, but the thought gave her odd comfort. And when, in his next encounters with Robin, Guy had seemingly let Robin off easy, she was almost more pleased with the thought that she had had something to do with Guy’s magnanimity, marginal as it was, than she was with Robin’s safe deliverance.

In the confusion of the following weeks, between Robin’s dealings with Isabella and Prince John’s visit, Marian saw and heard little of Guy. There was the unexpected heartbreak of the Locksley church burned to the ground – _our wedding church_, Marian thought, as if the destruction had somehow served to make the failure of the wedding even more final – but the next thing she knew was that Vasey was dead. And it sounded for all intents and purposes as if Guy had dispatched him. Marian remembered their last conversation in Acre, and wondered if it had had anything to do with what had happened. Or rather, hoped that it had.

A week or two later, things took a turn for the downright bizarre with the sudden news of King Richard’s death and the hasty preparations for John’s coronation to be held at Kirklees Abbey. Kirklees had been a strange choice – after all, John could have presumably picked any of the much more opulent venues in or near York – but it had enabled Robin to discover that Richard’s death had, in fact, been feigned. And as the daring plan to stop John’s travesty took shape, it seemed that they had need of Marian, after all.

Robin had wanted to stop the coronation, but success depended on showing up at precisely the right moment. Too late, and the dastardly deed would be done. Too early, and they would inevitably raise queries from John’s guards especially if, as had been discussed, they assumed the livery and armour of Richard’s guard – with their faces known already, there was no question of them going unmasked.

However, Marian, who had stayed behind on their previous castle forays, was a stranger to John’s men – and with the ceremony taking place in remote Kirklees, ran little chance of being recognized by attending nobles. So she was sent ahead, still disguised in a big hooded cloak, to basically be what she was, a heavily pregnant woman, and pretend that she had come to beg for John’s blessing for her unborn baby, only to pretend to swoon and withdraw to warn the others when the moment for action was right.

She stood in the crowd outside the main chapel, glancing furtively around her, when she was startled by an achingly familiar voice at her ear.

“What are you doing here, my lady?”

The figure looming by her side was a Royal guard, uniformed and helmeted. But the voice was unmistakably Guy’s.

“You?!” she breathed, so excited in spite of herself as to momentarily forget about her mission.

“Quiet,” he hissed as he edged away from the thick crowd and towards a shadowy archway, motioning for her to follow.

Once away from the throng, Marian turned to face him. She could not actually _see_ his face, covered as it was by the helmet and chain mail, but once again found herself seeking out his beautiful eyes. They no longer looked dead, she was pleased to notice, but still looked dull. Resigned. Disillusioned.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she pressed in turn. It was obvious that Guy was not there as part of John’s official retinue.

“I was… mistaken about him. I thought him to be a wiser ruler, and more of an honest man. Maybe his dead brother would have been better after all.” Guy’s voice was bitter but determined.

“Richard is alive.”

“What?!” his eyes went wide behind the helmet.

“The body was false, John had it made of wax…”

“Well, even more reason to stop him, then.”

“What are you about to do?” Marian asked with a dreadful apprehension.

“I will do what I have to.”

“You will get caught!” It was exactly as she had thought, and there was only one way from there.

“If I do, so be it.” Still the same resigned determination.

“Guy!” she was almost ready to beg him on her knees.

“Quiet… please.” He had moved so that they were all but out of sight of any passers-by, but Marian’s desperate voice threatened to doom them both.

She fell silent, and Guy found himself staring uncomfortably at her large belly. Hurt, despite the resignation. He had let go of the woman, had set her free to follow her heart, and yet the obvious reminder and proof of her choice was painful to behold. How he had dreamed of having children with her… Perhaps it was for the best that he could die in this assassination attempt. Definitely for the best.

Marian, meanwhile, was battling her own demons, trying not to wish too much that it had been Guy’s child she was carrying. Knowing that even if she said it out loud, it would not change anything. She had made her bed, as it were, cold and uncomfortable as it had turned out to be.

“I heard that you killed Vasey,” she said finally, looking for a safe subject to talk about and finding the most incongruously fitting one. “I was happy to hear it.”

“I remembered what you said before… and what _I_ said before, and I thought that it was better to have no family than family like _that_.”

So it had been her words indeed.

“But you have family now,” she countered, “your sister is here, I heard the good news…” _And I wish _I _were your family, too, even if it no longer matters to you…_

“Do not speak of things you know nothing about!” he exploded, before checking himself. “My sister would rather see me dead, Marian, and _she_ is not good news for _anyon_e.” The outburst had put him on his guard, and had reminded him that they should not have been having that conversation at all. “I must go, Marian, and so should you. The prince will be here any moment.” He moved away before giving her one last look. “Goodbye, milady.”

Marian could not care less about John or his coronation. She had wanted to ask Guy to stay, wanted to apologise, to tell him how much she had missed him… but she had seen the defensive wall go up in his eyes, and knew from past experience that it would have taken a lot of cajoling to get Guy to open up again after an exchange like that.

John had indeed arrived, and she had played her part, and Robin and Guy had played theirs, and as she listened to an excited Robin recount the rest of the day’s events to her, she tried not to show her conflicting emotions too much. John had been thwarted, and the kingdom had been safeguarded for Richard, and she was supposed to rejoice alongside Robin. But Guy was in his sister’s hands, and if his own words were to be believed, there was no hope of mercy from that quarter.

And then, out of nowhere, she doubled up in pain so intense that it almost made her pass out.

“Marian?!” Robin rushed to her side, Richard forgotten for the moment.

“I am fine, Robin, I really am,” she said weakly.

“No, this is dangerous, my love. I still think that you need to go to Rufford now. You have little time left and the sooner you get there, the better.” They had discussed this. Giving birth in the middle of the forest was out of the question, and surrounding villages were too close to Nottingham and its Sheriff for comfort. An abbey was the best choice, but with all the insanity going on at Kirklees, even though John was about to leave, there was no chance to get in unnoticed. So they had settled on Rufford, a good distance away and remote, but safe. 

“Robin, I cannot…” How could she go away when Guy was in mortal danger?!

“My love, you must, for us. For the baby. I beg you to do it.”

She would have gambled her own life. But she could not argue Robin’s point about the baby’s safety. With a heavy heart, Marian agreed.

Between the journey, the wait, the birth itself, and the first weeks spent nursing her baby daughter, Marian had hardly noticed the time go by. Before she knew it, she had been away from Sherwood for more than six weeks. She had written to Robin to apprise him of the happy news, and was surprised and not a bit annoyed when he did not write back – _surely he cannot be chasing another skirt when his wife is having his child?! – _but above all, glad that the baby was born healthy.

And then the news came.

Nottingham had been besieged, Vasey had come back from the dead like the devil that he was, and had laid waste to a good portion of the town even as the citizens, led by Robin and Guy, had succeeded in repelling the attack. Thankfully, Vasey and Isabella had met their ends, and Guy had survived.

But Robin was among the dead.

When her first fits of sobbing were over and her baggage was loaded into the carriage taking her back to Nottingham – she was too late even for the funeral but still felt compelled to go back – Marian cradled the baby in her arms as she wondered what it would be like coming back to Nottinghamshire now that Robin was, once again, no longer there.

In a way, it proved easier than she had thought.

At least the outlaws were still there. Kate was dead – though as hard as she tried to invoke her Christian spirit, Marian had trouble mourning her – and Allan was gravely wounded, but seeing the familiar faces of Much, John, and Tuck light up when they looked at her baby had made her smile for the first time in days.

Later that evening, when her baby had been entrusted to a nurse and Marian herself seemed reasonably settled at an inn in Nottingham, Tuck had come to talk to her.

“Lady Marian,” his voice was soft and quiet, “I need to give you this,” he produced a rolled-up piece of vellum. “Robin wrote this… the night of the siege, not knowing if we would survive the following day. He talked of you, and the baby, he was really happy with the news and wished so much to see her, and then… his last words were of you, my lady. He… thought that you were there with him. He spoke to you, was happy that you were there to bid him farewell.” Tuck stopped, rubbing his forehead, obviously distressed by the memory.

Marian placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you so much, Friar, for giving me this. And for telling me.”

When Tuck was gone, Marian unrolled the letter.

_My beloved Marian,_

_I am writing to you not knowing if it be the Lord’s will to let us see each other again. We have been besieged here in Nottingham, and hope to hold the city in King Richard’s name, but the enemies are pressing. At this hour, my thoughts and prayers go to you and our baby. I was overjoyed with the news of her safe deliverance and it is only due to tumultuous events in these past two weeks that I have been unable to send a message to you. If it is not our destiny to meet again, I shall pray for your continued happiness, whatever it may take for you to attain it, and shall hope that we may meet again at Judgment Day. Rest assured that my love for you shall go with me to the grave and beyond._

_Your loving husband_

_Robin of Locksley _

Marian wiped off the tear stains blossoming on the vellum. Between their gentle and caring farewell as she was setting out for Rufford and this letter, it seemed that she and Robin had finally grown close, the closest they had been in months, although more as friends than lovers – if she were truthful to herself, it had always been that way, and perhaps her mistake had been in trying to see it otherwise and hope for more. But as the days went on, even as she continued mourning Robin, Marian was vaguely surprised at herself for not grieving more, for not feeling truly heartbroken. Surely a widow should feel devastated by her husband’s death? And yet, Marian was ashamed to admit, she felt oddly free. Robin’s transgressions had been forgiven and would eventually be forgotten, but her life with him was in the past. She had lived out her childhood dream, but could not help feeling the sting of disappointment behind the pain of loss and the prayer of gratitude for what had been. It had certainly been a story of friendship; it may have been a story of love; but it had not been a story of passion, not by a long shot. And with that, she was reminded of Guy again.

It had taken her a great deal of reflection but she had finally come to see the two men as men, not black-and-white embodiments of good and evil, but real people, each with his own weaknesses and good qualities. Robin was not the unimpeachable hero; Guy was not the irredeemable villain. It had been her mistake, her youthful idealistic fallacy, to have once regarded them as such. They were both grey, as it were. And so, for better or worse, was she.

In a way, Marian had already paid a price for her idealism, with her somewhat misguided marriage and the disillusionment that followed. But she feared that there would be more to pay yet. While she had been away, Guy’s life had taken a most unexpected turn. Marian listened in astonishment to the story of Guy’s star-crossed encounter with a willful, brave maiden in the dungeons of Nottingham castle who had almost died saving Guy’s life… and had instead captured his heart.

She almost hoped that it was idle gossip. But a few days later, Marian saw Guy and his betrothed ride through town, barely taking their eyes off each other to find the way through the streets. And as the snippets of their happy banter and notes of laughter reached her ears, she was stung by bitter jealousy of the other girl even though she rejoiced at seeing Guy enjoying life for a change.

***

_Pater noster, qui es in coelis. sanctificetur nomen tuum: adveniat regnum tuum: fiat voluntas tua, sicut in coelo, et in terra..._

_Oh, is it ever going to be over?_

This was nothing like the last time they had seen each other, when Marian had been hanging on to every instant.

It had come out of the blue, his note, unswervingly polite and impeccably worded, asking her for a meeting. Marian was beyond herself with exhilaration – and yet the doubt kept gnawing at the back of her mind. Surely the reason that Guy had asked to see her could not be to revive the past! She merely wished it were, she knew. But she wanted so much to believe it.

She had dressed carefully, in her simplest yet most becoming clothes, a black veil the only reminder of her widowhood. Guy seemed pleased, or at least relieved, to see her in reasonably good spirits when he himself opened the door of Locksley Manor to let her in. It was one of the last days he was spending under Locksley’s roof, she knew, as he had recently, and most unexpectedly, received a royal pardon from Richard and been granted his widowed sister’s extensive lands, together with a title. And, Marian had heard, thanks to Tuck’s detailed account to the King, Guy’s recent _de facto_ reconciliation with Robin and their joint heroics in the defense of Nottingham had played a big part in it. _Who would have thought._

“My lady,” Guy moved to kiss her hand, his lips barely touching it in a perfunctory courteous gesture.

_A year ago he would have relished this_, she thought.

_A year ago, _I _would not_.

_But he is a better man now. And I am wiser now. _

True, Guy had changed, in part thanks to her, in part – she had to acknowledge – thanks to Meg, but a lot of what made him a worthy man had always been there waiting to be seen, and she, Marian was forced to admit, had not been the one to see it. She had been too content to see the world as a comforting pattern of black and white before it dissolved into a confusing multitude of shades of grey. Before she stopped seeing Robin’s patriotic bravery as the ultimate virtue and seeing Guy’s black armour as a convenient metaphor for his character or intentions.

He had taught her things, too.

Just not in time for her to have stopped playing games and faced the truth.

“I am delighted to see that you are well, Lady Marian.

It had been little more than a courteous turn of phrase as well, she knew, no matter how much she would have liked to believe otherwise. Guy did look close to delighted but, Marian suspected, it had more to do with his recent reversal of fortune and, she feared, with his recently announced betrothal. He looked positively gorgeous, too. She did not dwell on the reasons for that.

“I apologize for asking you to come here at a difficult time, but I did not wish to intrude on your prayers.” After the siege, Marian had sought temporary refuge at Kirklees, where Guy’s letter had found her. “I merely wanted to tell you that should you wish to leave the Abbey, now or ever, your… manor at Knighton is almost restored in its former image, and will be finished in a fortnight. The rooms downstairs are ready, I just… made sure of that, so should you wish…” he stopped, visibly embarrassed.

“Guy!” Marian was so genuinely moved as to forget courtly formalities as she rushed to him and grabbed his hand in both of hers. He looked even more embarrassed as he shook his head and gently extricated his fingers, the slight movement sending a jolt of pain through Marian’s heart.

“Please, think nothing of it, my lady.” The voice was soft but there was a distance there. “It was the least I could do, considering that I had caused you the distress in the first place. Considering _all_ the distress I had caused you.”

At that moment, Marian was not sure if a destroyed house would have been too high a price to pay for a proof of love from Guy. Not sure at all.

He continued, still seemingly making amends, even as the wall between them went up higher by the moment, so high that Marian was no longer sure if she could scale it.

“I am truly sorry about Robin. He was a hero… and he was a better man than I.”

_A better man who was ready to cheat on me in a snap_, Marian thought sourly before mentally slapping herself. If that was Guy’s opinion, maybe it was better to leave him to the perfect illusion.

“And I congratulate you on your baby. It is wonderful news indeed.”

“And I you, on your pardon and the land you were given,” she said almost mechanically. It was probably for the better, but heartwrenchingly sad nonetheless, that Guy’s lands were a good few days’ travel away. Which meant, in practice, that they were unlikely to see each other again. “And…” she could not bring herself to say it. How could she congratulate Guy on his betrothal when it was making her die inside?

“Thank you, my lady,” he either did not notice her distress, or chose not to. Or else put it down to her mourning for Robin.

As an uneasy silence descended on the room, it was obvious that Guy had said all he had wanted to. As far as he was concerned, the meeting was over. And from his pacing and fidgeting, Marian suspected that he was in a hurry to get back to Linby and his betrothed. She had to play along. She just held on to the moment while it lasted.

“Guy, I am truly, profoundly grateful to you for restoring Knighton. It means so much to me…” _that you did it for me_, she wanted to say.

“It was the least I could do,” he interrupted quietly. “I hope you find yourself… happy there. “ He had walked to the door leading to the entryway, and had almost moved to open it before the unintentional rudeness of his gesture dawned on him and he checked himself. But by then, Marian knew that it would do little good to postpone the inevitable.

“I really should be going,” she muttered, saving Guy the embarrassment, and walked through the door that he was by then holding open for her. But as they paused in the doorway and she gazed once more into Guy’s face, Marian’s willpower left her completely.

“Guy, I need to tell you something…” she hesitated. He remained silent. “Guy, I wanted… I was wondering if you and I could…” Her voice trailed off. _You loved me once, Guy, do you not love me still?_ she almost blurted out, and almost added that their own ill-fated wedding, though unconsummated, should have been held valid as the consent had been given… forgetting _how_ it had been given, and momentarily forgetting the entire business of her marriage to Robin in between, she belatedly realized.

“Marian, don’t,” he spoke quietly as he looked straight at her, with a barely noticeable movement of his head that had nonetheless lost none of its finality. There was pain in his eyes, but it was untainted by either doubt or regret, and there was no trace of that desperate burning passion that she had so long taken for granted. That she would give anything to see again.

“Is it too late, Guy?” she asked despairingly, her voice barely above a whisper, on the verge of faltering, tears brimming in her eyes.

He looked down, silent. Marian turned past him into the dark entryway and left the manor, closing the door behind her.

***

The mass had ended, the blessing had been delivered, and the ornate lace veil had been lifted from the newlyweds’ heads. Guy and Meg had turned to face the congregation, still holding hands, and exchanged brief glances that were both contented and oddly mischievous before walking out of the church to the waiting carriage that was to take them to Nottingham and the feast. It was finished.

Marian walked out behind the parishioners, squinting at the sunlight outside, and went to the stables. There was little left to do but ride back to the empty Knighton Hall. At least her baby was going to join her there in two days, when the furniture for her room was ready. She shook her head impatiently when she noticed that her groom was nowhere to be seen. _Oh well, back to the old habits, then._ Marian undid the tether and led the horse out, wincing as she tried to leap into the saddle and missed.

“May I assist you, my lady?” a rich, velvety voice drawled behind her.

Marian almost jumped. _Guy!_ But just as soon, she checked herself. There was no way that Guy would still be there, and following _her_. Indeed, when she turned around, the tall, athletic stranger looked nothing like Guy. _Or did he?_

“Forgive me for startling you, my lady. I do not believe we have met, though if you are who I think you are, I have heard a good deal of wonderful things about you that do not begin to do you justice. Am I mistaken in believing you to be Lady Marian of Locksley and Knighton?”

“You are not, my lord. And you are…?” she did not know whether to be embarrassed, annoyed, or flattered.

“My name is Archer, I am, by the grace of God and King Richard, the new lord of Locksley. Although,” he added hurriedly, “I have every intent to restore to you that part of the Locksley inheritance that is yours by virtue of your widowhood.

But at the moment, Marian was less concerned about money and property than about Archer’s ancestry.

“You are Robin’s brother, are you not? So what were you…” _doing at Guy’s wedding_, she had wanted to say but stopped herself when the rudeness of it struck her. He seemed unruffled, however.

“In an interesting coincidence, I am brother to both Robin and Guy,” he said smoothly. “And I was here to wish my brother well at his wedding before joining them at the feast. I take it that you are bound there too, my lady. Would you do me the honour of letting me accompany you?”

Marian hesitated. She had no intention of going to the feast. Yet there was something about Archer that made it difficult to refuse him, something of Robin in his irreverent, boyish smile, and something of Guy in his low, alluring voice that sent her heart aflutter in spite of herself. But then she thought of Guy and his wife, their obliviously happy faces, and knew that an evening of watching them, with or without Archer, was more torture than she could withstand.

“It pains me to refuse so kind and courteous an offer, my lord, but I am going straight to Knighton.”

Archer did not miss a beat.

“Why, then it is my duty to see you safely there, especially considering that it is on the way.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Both knew that Knighton was not anywhere near the way from Linby to Nottingham, but if Archer was willing to pretend that it was, so, for the time being, was Marian. Spending just a little while longer listening to that voice – _if she closed her eyes she could almost pretend it was Guy_ – was worth it.

As she watched Archer gallop toward Nottingham after they had bid their farewells on the porch of the newly rebuilt Knighton Hall, Marian sighed as she told herself to dismiss the man from her mind. She was not ready for that, for anything. Maybe she would never be. But she knew where to go when she needed to hear Guy’s voice again. And for the time being, that was a good thing.

_fin_

_._


End file.
